


Take Five

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Davos is Davos, Edric is Awkward, M/M, Sandor is Awkward, Stannis is Awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davos directs. Stannis reads a script. How long will it take to get one usable commercial?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Five

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowsfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsfan/gifts), [dubbledore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubbledore/gifts), [starsunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsunk/gifts), [bronson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronson/gifts), [quentinknockout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentinknockout/gifts), [theoldgods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/gifts).



> Prompt: Stannis/Davos, cameraman/actor AU.

It was a hot day and the sun streamed in through the tall windows of the library, illuminating the top of Stannis Baratheon’s head and throwing splotches of light across his chiseled cheekbones.

Davos Seaworth sighed heavily.

“Edric — more powder, please. On the right side of the face.”

The young man scowled, and Stannis scowled, and Davos scowled. “I didn’t take this job to put _makeup_ on some _old man_ ,” Edric had said the first time Davos asked him to blot the beads of sweat off Stannis’ forehead and apply some matte powder. 

“What did you think a production assistant did?” Davos was honestly curious. 

“I don’t know,” Edric had said miserably. “Run the sound board. Set up lights.”

“We have a sound guy.” Davos gestured at the hulking form of Sandor Clegane, silent and sullen over his blinking, byzantine equipment. Edric didn’t look much like he wanted to argue with him.

“And when I got here the lights were already set up.”

“That’s my job,” Davos had said. As sole proprieter of Seaworth Commercial Productions, pretty much everything was his job — booking locations, directing the shoot, operating the camera, editing in post-production … but he tried to at least outsource some of it by hiring help when he could.

“I still think a girl would be better at this makeup thing,” Edric was huffing.

“Fine.” Davos was finished with this kid, but they still needed him, at least for the day. “Then next shoot we’ll hire a woman, and _she’ll_ get your day rate. Ought to even out the gender balance in this business anyway.”

—

From the perspective of a civilian and not someone in television production, Davos had to admit the slanting sunlight across Stannis’ well-sculpted, perfectly proportioned face was striking. It lit up the blue in his eyes and turned the edges of his hairline to a silvery sheen. For a moment, Davos let himself admire.

Then it was back to work. It was already almost lunchtime and they hadn’t gotten many usable takes of the insurance commercial. The light was wrong, the mood was wrong, Sandor Clegane wouldn’t say whether or not the sound was wrong, and it was too damn hot in the building. 

Stannis was tense. This wasn’t his first ad shoot, but after retiring early from a successful career in broadcast news, he had — for reasons unknown to Davos — decided to move into the decidedly less glamorous world of television commercials. His name and face would draw any audience, but Davos wondered why the hell someone would give up earnestly reporting on the proceedings inside packed courtrooms, interviewing police outside gory murder scenes, and painting vivid word pictures of political personalities for … well ... this.

“The law firm of Tyrell and Tyrell will get you money,” Stannis intoned, glaring into Davos’ camera like he was staring down a war enemy. “Money for your injuries. And money for your pain and suffering. If you’ve been in an accident—”

“Cut,” Davos said wearily, clicking the button to stop recording. “The ‘accident’ part comes first. Then the money.”

“Damn it!” Stannis slammed his fist down on the table. The prop books and the green office lamp on top of the table vibrated. 

“Stannis, it’s almost one. Do you want to break now?”

“No. Let’s do a few more takes and then break.”

“Too late,” Edric said. “Unless you want me to run the sound board.”

At the mention of “break,” Sandor had lifted himself out of his chair and headed for the exit. 

“Well, we’ll see him in an hour,” Davos said. 

Stannis looked enraged. “Union,” explained Davos. “We might as well break too.”

“How do you join that union?” asked Edric. “They never called me back.”

Davos had an idea. “Why don’t you go ask Sandor? He’s sitting right out there with his cooler.” At that, the boy nearly bounded out the door to certain doom, or at least a good earful. It took everything Davos had not to burst out laughing.

He and Stannis were left in the hot library alone. This was the best place to film these types of ads, Davos had found over the years. The management was amiable and the space was dignified and he didn’t have to pay as much as he would for a studio. On some Sundays, when the library was closed, he got here before the rest of his crew and the talent, and lost himself in the stacks. He had been a late reader but an avid one. And he liked to shoot here, enjoyed the dusty, timeless smell of old books.

Today, though, books were the last thing on his mind.

The first thing on his mind was getting a workable take of this infernal commercial.

The second was figuring out just how to ask out Stannis Baratheon after the shoot was over.

—

“Take fifty-four,” Davos said. It was four-thirty; the sun was sinking and he had adjusted the lights on their stands accordingly. Lunch hadn’t gone badly, but Davos had never quite gotten to the point: neither the point of why Stannis had decided to choose this career path nor the point of figuring out what Stannis was doing later. They’d eaten sandwiches in companionable silence, though. Davos had enjoyed the company — and by the small, half-hidden smile that Stannis gave as he stood up and carefully shook his napkin out over the trash can before throwing it away, it was possible that his companion had too. 

Whatever Edric and Sandor had discussed out at the picnic table, neither was in a mood to chat. Edric worked dutifully, saying virtually nothing. Sandor sat even stonier than ever. 

“The law firm of Tyrell and Tyrell will get you money,” Stannis was saying. “Money for your injuries, and money for your pain and suffering.”

“Cut.” 

“What is it?” Stannis was visibly irritated.

“Can you show a little more … I don’t know … compassion? For these people who’ve been in an accident? It’s not about the money for them. It’s about the … you know, the pain and suffering.” 

Stannis snorted. “It’s always about the money. With everyone.”

Davos turned his laugh into a cough. “That’s true, but they don’t want you to tell them that. They want you to care about their broken legs and chronic back pain. Just try for one take,” he implored. “Try to talk to them like they’re someone you know.”

Stannis stared at him for a long moment. “All right.”

Davos smiled encouragingly.

“Okay. Take fifty-five. Three … two … and one,” said Davos. “Rolling.”

“If you’ve been in an accident, you deserve reparations,” Stannis declared, in clear tones. “The law firm of Tyrell and Tyrell will get you money. Money for your injuries, and money for your pain and suffering.” He looked right into the camera and his blue eyes seemed sincere. “Experienced attorneys will represent you in court. The first consultation is free, so call Tyrell and Tyrell now. The number is 1-800-786-9895. Again, that number is 1-800-786-9895. Tyrell and Tyrell will get you what _you_ deserve.”

“And — cut.” Davos had barely breathed until he pushed the button to stop tape. 

“That was good,” Edric said.

“Was it?” Stannis looked to Davos. “What do you think?”

“Let’s play it back.”

Stannis unfolded his long body from the chair, walked over somewhat stiffly. Edric leaned into to look at the viewfinder. Davos pressed play.

“If you’ve been in an accident, you deserve reparations … Money for your injuries, and money for your _pain_ and _suffering_ ,” came Stannis’ voice. Somehow it wasn’t overbearing and even through the tiny viewfinder, it looked like Stannis, for the first time all day, actually gave a damn.

“I’m calling it done,” Davos said. “Stannis? Sandor?”

“Fine,” grunted Sandor.

“That means he thinks it’s great,” Davos explained. “Stannis, are you comfortable with this?”

“Can you play it again?”

“Of course.”

Stannis leaned over Davos’ shoulder to look and Davos imagined he could feel the heat of his breath on his neck. He tried to ignore the goosebumps rising along his arms. 

“Yes,” Stannis said after a long moment. “I think we can use this.”

“You know what I could use,” Edric said, “is a drink.”

“Oh, didn’t the agency tell you? Production assistants are responsible for wrapping the set. Take down the lights, coil up the cable, that kind of thing.” Davos had to smirk at Edric’s fallen face. He still hadn’t asked out Stannis but at least he could teach this kid a lesson about complaining on the set—

“But that drink sounds quite necessary,” Stannis cut into his thoughts. “Davos, are you also required to stay and wrap?”

“No,” Davos said, his voice faltering slightly in spite of himself. “I’ll need to come back to take home the equipment once Edric’s packed it up neat — but not right away.”

“Then shall we? You deserve reparations,” and his unexpected, sparkling, sideways grin made Davos’ breath catch in his chest, “for fifty-five takes.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the crew!
> 
> Thank you to shadowsfan for betaing.
> 
> The setting is based on real life. I sat through the shoots of almost this exact commercial in this library on Sundays for years of my childhood and it's nice to finally write it down somewhere! However, there was zero UST between the director/cameraman and the aging male talent. At least, I hope not.


End file.
